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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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v 


.... 


A    REVERIE 


AND     OTHER    POEMS 


ROBERT    A.    CHESEBROUGH 


NEW   YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY 
ROBERT   A.    CHESEBROUGH. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co., 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


TO 
MARION     M.     CHESEBROUGH 

THIS    VOLUME 
IS    LOVINGLY    DEDICATED 

BY    HER 
DEVOTED    FATHER 


612996 

fOBUH 


TO   THE    PUBLIC. 

T  AM  well  aware  that  in  this  practical  age,  poetry 
is  at  a  sad  discount,  and  must  give  way  to 
machinery,  the  pursuit  of  wealth,  and  the  hard- 
headed  sciences.  At  least  most  poetry  must  do 
so,  and  in  accordance  with  the  proverbial  modesty 
of  authors,  I  consent  that  mine  may  be  classed  with 
the  "most."  It  is  unlikely  that  I  shall  be  much  dis- 
appointed at  the  reception  my  attempt  will  receive 
at  your  hands,  as  I  expect  but  slight  commenda- 
tion, and  concede  in  advance  that  your  judgment 
and  criticism  will  be  altogether  righteous.  Nearly 
everything  you  will  find  in  this  little  volume  was 
written  when  I  was  quite  a  young  man,  was  not 
intended  for  publication,  and  probably  never  would 
have  been  published  had  I  not  recently  submitted 
"A  Reverie"  to  the  judgment  of  a  critical  friend, 
who  deemed  it  worthy  of  cold  type,  and  in  a 


4  TO    THE    PUBLIC. 

moment  of  weakness  I  decided  to  become  an  author. 
The  rest  of  the  poems  were  added  to  fill  up  with, 
and  I  can  only  hope  they  will  not  weary  you.  If 
on  the  contrary  (and  the  world  oft-times  goes  by  con- 
traries) you  like  my  style,  I  may  assail  you  again. 
Au  revoir. 

R.  A.  C. 
NEW  YORK,  January,  1889. 


INDEX. 

PAGE 

Preface  in  Verse  (written  in  1864) 7 

A  Reverie 9 

Why  Love  is  Blind 22 

A  1'Aide,  mon  Roi 25 

The  Earthly  Love 28 

Our  Father  which  art  in  Heaven 32 

A  Vision 33 

My  Maud,  My  Marguerite 37 

Anything  to  beat  Grant 39 

All  is  Vanity,  saith  the  Preacher 42 

A  Serenade 44 

Retrospect 46 

Forever  ...    48 

The  Maid  with  the  Golden  Hair 50 

Ode  to  Innocence 53 

Tired 55 

To  Our  Little  Neighbor  Opposite 57 

On  the  Death  of  Gen'l  Philip  Kearney 58 

Look  Forward 59 

To  F.  R.  C 62 

For  Miss  Lillie's  Album 63 

The  Battle  of  Pittsburg  Landing 64 

Thy  Heart  shall  Live  Forever 67 


INDEX. 

PAGE 

To  Lady  Gay 69 

Wood-fire  Fancies 70 

Monotony 75 

To  Florence      77 

My  Old  Friends  79 

Commander  Maxwell  Woodhull,  U.  S.  N 81 

Epitaph 83 


PREFACE. 

(Written   in    1864.) 

"T'WAS  meant  not,  Reader,  that  this  book  should 
1       be 

An  open  page  for  public  scrutiny: 
I  claim  not,  that  the  verse  is  true  or  good, 
Or  that  the  rhymes,  flow  smoothly  as  they  should  ; 
It  was  not  meant,  that  e'en  thy  friendly  eye 
Shouldst  scan  the  lines,  or  mark  where  errors  lie. 
I  reckless  wrote  whate'er  you  may  find  here, 
To  please  a  whim,  and  not  the  critic's  ear. 
I  do  not  call  it  poetry,  but  only  rhymes 
Wrung  from  my  foolish  pen,  at  various  times  : 
Times  when  my  heart  was  sad  and  ill  at  ease, 
Or  idle  moments  ;  be  it  which  you  please. 
My  Muse,  is  not  one  which  I  can  command 
Whene'er  I  choose,  or  with  a  ready  hand 
Note  down,  the  half-completed  shapeless  train 
Of  thought,   which  swells  and   surges  through  my 
brain. 


For  oft-times  things  of  beauty,  visions  rare, 
Have  crossed  my  spirit,  midst  the  thoroughfare 
Of  business,  and  the  daily  scenes  of  lite  ; 
Then,  quickly  vanquished  been,  without  a  strife. 
A  merchant  cannot  well  a  poet  be, 
For  'twixt  the  two  there  is  no  sympathy. 
A  "Jack  of  all  trades  "  never  can  excel ; 
Of  each  he  something  knows,  but  nothing  well. 
Bear  with  me  therefore,  your  compassion  lend, 
For  Sympathy  is  Approbation's  nearest  friend  ; 
But  if  you  will  not  grant  this  common  need, 
Lay  down  my  book,  'tis  not  for  you  to  read. 


A  REVERIE. 

1\ TOW  the  hours  of  light  are  ending, 
*•  ^      And  the  slowly  setting  sun, 
With  the  sky  its  glory  blending  ; 

Signals  that  the  day  is  done. 
Wave  on  wave,  in  crimson  legions, 

Bank  on  bank  of  azure  light ; 
Pathways  to  the  heavenly  regions, 

Day,  coquetting  with  the  night. 

Sadness  o'er  my  spirit  stealing, 

Mingled  with  a  strange  delight ; 
To  my  soul  a  glimpse  revealing, 

Joyous,  painful,  sad,  yet  bright. 
Earth  before  my  window  fading 

Into  nothing  ;  one  fixed  glance 
Chains  my  fancy,  leads  me  wading 

Through  a  weird  delicious  trance. 

Somber  hues  are  swiftly  changing, 
Gold  and  purple  strands  of  light  ; 

Giant  clouds,  like  armies  ranging, 
Sweep  their  glories  from  my  sight. 


A    REVERIE. 

Twilight  coming,  slowly,  surely, 
Turns  the  crimson  vision  gray; 

Darkness  falling  fast,  securely 
Wraps  her  mantle  'round  the  day 

Now  the  lamps  of  heaven,  are  lighted 

By  unseen,  seraphic  hands, 
Beacons  for  the  souls  benighted  ; 

Roaming  in  those  trackless  strands. 
Spirits  from  the  distant  heaven, 

Never  wearied  in  their  flight ; 
And  perchance,  to  them  is  given, 

Knowledge  hidden  from  our  sight. 

Backward  down  the  path  of  ages, 

Runs  a  train,  a  countless  one, 
Of  unlearn'd  men,  and  wisest  sages  ; 

Watching  with  faint  hearts,  the  sun 
Sinking  in  its  bed  of  splendor, 

Wond'ring  what  the  mystery  meant ; 
If  the  future  state  should  render, 

All  its  meanings,  and  extent. 

Working  out  in  short  probation, 
Tangled  skeins  of  earth  and  life ; 


A    REVERIE. 

Deeds  of  sin,  the  pomp  of  station, 

Cruel  acts  of  selfish  strife  ; 
Souls  of  those  who  once  were  mortal, 

Sons  of  toil,  and  slaves  of  sin  ; 
Waiting  till  the  deathly  portal, 

Yawn'd  at  last,  and  drew  them  in. 

For  a  brief  and  fleeting  hour, 

Standing  on  the  shore  of  Time  ; 
Till  the  waves'  resistless  power, 

Sweeps  them  past  the  unknown  line  : 
Like  a  billow  of  the  ocean, 

Rising  with  a  crest  of  foam  ; 
Grand  and  beautiful  in  motion, 

Breaks,  recedes,  and  then  is  gone. 

So  our  lives  go,  following  after 

Each  the  other's  even  tread  ; 
Rising,  cresting,  breaks  in  laughter, 

Foams  in  rage,  and  then  is  dead: 
Leaving  naught  to  trace  its  being, 

In  the  grasping  undertow; 
Weary  are  the  eyes  at  seeing, 

Still  that  everlasting  flow. 


A     REVERIE. 

From  the  passing  cycles,  gleaning 

Scraps  of  knowledge,  flakes  of  gold  ; 
All  the  total,  nothing  seeming 

To  the  centuries  of  old. 
Arts  forgotten,  science  hurried 

To  its  doom,  but,  at  its  birth  ; 
Swept  away,  and  quickly  buried 

In  the  all  consuming  earth. 

Delving  deeply,  later  ages 

Raise  a  mouldy  stone  to  light ; 
Aim  to  read  its  defaced  pages, 

And  restore  its  form  aright. 
On  a  pedestal  erected, 

In  some  Louvre  perchance  is  stood  ; 
There  to  stare,  and  be  inspected, 

By  the  gaping  multitude. 

Science  tells  of  earthly  matter, 
Naught  is  ever  wholly  lost ; 

Though  its  atoms  widely  scatter, 
In  tumultuous  changes  tost ; 

Somewhere  in  the  vast  Creation, 
Will  be  found  each  minute  grain, 


A    REVERIE.  13 

Changed  in  form,  remote  in  station  ; 
Still  the  total  bulk,  the  same. 

And  the  learned  sage,  will  show  you 

God  is  only  Nature's  power, 
With  a  soul  he  will  endow  you, 

Fleeting  as  this  twilight  hour  ; 
Transient  as  the  meteor's  flight, 

Shooting  past  the  watcher's  eye  ; 
Flashing  with  a  moment's  light, 

Buried  in  a  midnight  sky. 

From  the  seething  cooling  masses, 

Tells  us,  comes  the  finished  Earth  ; 
Rock  and  metal,  by  their  gases 

Point  their  spectroscopic  birth. 
And  the  feeble  life  beginning, 

Teems  ere  long,  thro'  all  the  realm  : 
That,  Evolution  always  winning, 

Upward  tends,  and  guides  the  helm. 

Ever  changing,  ever  rising, 

From  the  monad  to  the  ape; 
Each  improving  form,  revising, 

Yields  at  last  the  human  shape: 


14  A    REVERIE. 

And  as  need  demands  new  uses, 
Grafts  them  on  the  former  kind  ; 

Striding  o'er  the  worn  abuses, 
Instinct  turns  at  last,  to  Mind. 

Is  that  Mind  pulsating  slowly, 

Symbol  of  an  august  reign  ; 
Only  yeast,  which  rises  wholly 

Thro'  a  dull  gray  mass  of  brain  ? 
Lighting  up  the  moorland  dreary, 

With  the  glimmer  of  its  light ; 
Startled  by  the  effort,  weary, 

Flickers  out  into  the  night. 

Can  the  day,  the  sun  forgetting, 

Independent  radiance  claim  ? 
What  the  diamond  to  the  setting, 

What  the  lamp  is  to  the  flame  ; 
So  the  body  to  the  spirit, 

Is  the  shell  which  holds  the  pearl  ; 
Shall  Clay,  Eternity  inherit, 

And  Spirit,  vanish  in  a  whirl  ? 

Is  the  value  of  the  casket, 

Greater  than  the  gleaming  gem  ? 


A    REVERIE.  15 

Is  the  perfume  of  the  basket, 

Sweeter  than  the  flowers  within  ? 

Shall  the  body  live  forever  ? 
And  the  soul  forever  die  ? 

And  shall  Matter,  ending  never; 
Gain  o'er  Mind,  the  mastery  ? 

Fool  !  the  mighty  power  which  made  thee, 

Lit  the  spark  of  life  within  ; 
Is  so  great,  so  far  beyond  thee, 

That  the  mind,  can  ne'er  begin 
To  grasp  the  raiment  of  its  grandeur  ; 

Guess  the  problem  of  its  birth: 
Look  !  the  stars  that  'round  me  wander, 

Mock  the  littleness  of  Earth. 

Aye  !  that  priceless  Earth  ;  thy  dwelling, 

Adds  to  the  whole,  an  atom  more  ; 
The  might  of  God's  Creation  swelling, 

As  counts  a  sand  upon  the  shore. 
What  then  is  thy  weak  opinion, 

Whence  this  vain  and  empty  pride  ? 
See  !  the  driftwood  of  the  ocean, 

Goes  out  with  the  ebbing  tide. 


1 6  A    REVERIE. 

In  the  dim  horizon  fading, 

Out  beyond  the  feeble  sight; 
Each  returning  wave  evading, 

Sucked  into  the  endless  night : 
On  the  trackless  waters  floating, 

Sinks  at  last  beneath  the  wave  ; 
While  remorseless  Time  is  gloating, 

O'er  the  conquest  he  hath  made. 

Is  the  tale  of  man's  redemption, 

Terrors  of  the  Judgment  Seat ; 
A  Saviour's  loving  intervention, 

Only  fiction  and  deceit  ? 
That,  the  Christian's  fond  endeavor, 

His  hope  to  gain  the  promised  view ; 
Merely  dreams,  which  fade  forever  ? 

Then,  oh  !  then,  is  nothing  true. 

Vain,  the  work  of  buried  ages  ; 

False,  the  prophets,  and  the  seers  ; 
False,  the  lore  of  saints  and  sages ; 

Vain,  the  martyr's  holy  tears  ; 
Shattered  is  the  sweet  illusion, 

Lost,  the  faith  which  looks  on  high  ; 


A    REVERIE. 

Life,  the  merest  weak  delusion, 
Immortality,  a  lie. 

After  centuries  of  error, 

Too  late,  the  scheme  to  be  revis't ; 
Man  awak'ning  from  his  terror, 

Tramples  on  the  throne  of  Christ. 
Nothing,  then,  is  worth  the  knowing,. 

All  attempts  to  build  are  vain  ; 
Futile,  planting  seed,  and  sowing  ; 

Chaos  has  returned  again. 

Useless,  is  the  gentle  Saviour 

Stripped  of  his  divinity  ; 
Patience,  love,  and  meek  behavior, 

Cannot  make  a  God  for  thee. 
Down  the  ponderous  structures  rattle,. 

Falls  the  arch  without  the  key  : 
Might  as  well,  give  up  the  battle, 

From  the  worthless  rubbish,  flee. 

Faith,  alone,  oh  !  doubting  mortal, 
Only  faith,  can  pierce  the  scroll, 

Which  obscures  the  mighty  portal ; 
Up  the  envious  curtains  roll. 
2 


l8  A    REVERIE. 

Trust  not  to  the  power  of  reason, 
'Twill  crumble  as  a  tower  of  sand  ; 

Deluding  for  a  transient  season, 
Faith,  alone,  yields  solid  land. 

Cling  to  that  with  fond  endeavor, 

Be  thy  creed  whate'er  it  may  ; 
Forms  and  symbols  pass  forever, 

With  the  coming  light  of  day. 
Strip't  from  man's  poor  weak  invention, 

Mighty  truth  alone  shall  rise  ; 
With  a  glorious  ascension, 

And  illuminate  the  skies. 

Burning  out  the  dross  of  ages 

From  the  pure  refin-ed  gold; 
Blotting  from  the  bigot  pages, 

Hoary  lies  too  long  enrolled. 
Rive  the  chains  which  strongly  bound  thee, 

Sweep  the  mist  from  off  the  land  ; 
And,  as  morning  breaks  around  ye, 

See,  the  "  Rock  of  Ages  "  stand. 

Aye  !  and  it  shall  stand  forever, 
Fiercely  though  the  torrents  run  ; 


A    REVERIE.  19 

Like  a  wild  tumultuous  river, 
And  the  clouds  obscure  the  sun  ; 

Bravely,  though  the  wave  breaks  o'er  it> 
It  shall  rear  its  crest  on  high, 

Future  millions  shall  adore  it  : 
Man,  infallible,  shall  die. 


Priestly  rule  which  led  the  masses, 

In  a  maze  of  wildering  doubt ; 
Blindly  blocked  the  easy  passes, 

Blew  the  lights  of  Science  out  : 
Trod  upon  the  knowledge  dawning, 

Burnt  its  heralds  at  the  stake  ; 
Grieved  to  see  the  light  of  morning, 

O'er  the  Earth,  triumphant  break. 

Ruled  the  world  with  rod  of  iron, 

Gave  the  conscience  for  mankind ; 
To  the  tiger  and  the  lion, 

Flung  the  independent  mind. 
Made  the  law  for  a  Creator, 

Steeped  in  self  idolatry  : 
Truth,  the  final  expiator, 

Lives  eternal  as  yon  sky. 


A    REVERIE. 

Who  art  thou,  oh  !  wondrous  stranger, 

Cleaving  space  with  giant  stride  ? 
Is  some  ruined  world  in  danger  ? 

Hath  its  Lord  been  crucified  ? 
Is  its  day  of  judgment  dawning  ? 

Must  it  kiss  the  fiery  rod  ? 
Art  thou  speeding,  without  warning  ? 

Th'  Executioner  of  God. 

From  the  awful  depths  of  ether, 

Rushing  with  the  lightning's  pace  ; 
Rule  nor  order,  knowing  neither, 

Foe,  to  all  the  laws  of  space. 
Weird  the  train  which  follows  after  : 

What  thine  errand,  gay  or  sad  ? 
Thou  mightst  move  the  stars  to  laughter  ; 

Thinking  thee,  a  sphere  gone  mad. 

Only  thou,  canst  reach  the  station 

Of  the  farthest  stars  of  all. 
Probe  the  limits  of  Creation, 

Plunge  against  the  final  wall : 
Find  where  ends  the  great  beginning, 

Where  begins  what  ends  no  more  ; 


A    REVERIE.  2: 

What,  the  power  which  hurls  thee  spinning, 
On  through  Space  forever  more. 

Yes  !  I'm  coming  ;  are  you  calling  ? 

Have  I  sat  here  all  the  night  ? 
Through  the  links  of  fancy  falling  ; 

Reckless  of  the  dawning  light. 
Are  the  little  ones  still  sleeping  ? 

Dear  !  I  did  not  know  'twas  day  : 
Surely,  you  have  not  been  weeping  ? 

Fades  my  reverie  away. 


WHY  LOVE  IS  BLIND. 

T  N  ev'ry  age,  in  ev'ry  clime, 

*  Where  streamlets  stray  or  bright  stars  shine, 

Have  dreamers  wrote,  and  poets  sung, 

Of  Love,  the  beautiful, — the  young. 

They  paint  him  as  a  truant  boy, 
With  wings  of  light,  and  face  of  joy. 
With  bounding  step  and  voice  as  clear, 
As  ever  spake  in  maiden's  ear. 

With  bow  and  quiver  in  his  hand, 
He  wandered  over  ev'ry  land, 
And  shot  his  darts  with  careless  glee, 
Or  e'en  one  thought  of  sympathy. 

Woe  to  the  luckless  swain  or  maid, 
Across  whose  path  our  "  young  Love  "  strayed. 
Quick  flew  the  shaft,  the  deed  was  done, 
Smiles  changed  to  sighs,  and  peace  was  gone. 


WHY    LOVE    IS    BLIND.  23 

Now,  Jove,  who  for  a  good  long  while, 
Had  watched  the  urchin  with  a  smile, 
Began  to  think  the  time  had  come, 
To  put  an  end  to  poor  Love's  fun. 

Before  the  Throne,  with  downcast  eye. 
Our  hero  stood  dejectedly  ; 
The  mandate  harsh  and  stern  he  heard, 
Yet  Love,  he  uttered  not  one  word. 

His  golden  bow  was  in  his  hand, 
And  on  it  lay  a  winged  brand  ; 
Thought  Love,  "  I'll  quickly  answer  you," 
And,  quick  as  thought,  the  answer  flew. 

Jove  saw  the  act,  and  turned  aside, 
The  missile  from  it's  mark  flew  wide  ; 
Else,  in  the  realm  Love  first  had  been, 
The  conqueror  of  gods  and  men. 

Dismayed  he  stood,  and  pale  with  fright, 
His  ruby  lips  turned  ashen  white, 
And  he  who  never  pity  knew, 
With  tears  for  mercy  dared  to  sue. 


24  WHY    LOVE    IS    BLIND. 

Then  Beauty  at  the  feet  of  Jove, 
Added  her  tears  to  those  of  Love, 
And  Jove  could  stand  no  more  than  I, 
Youth,  Love  and  Beauty's  tearful  eye. 

'Twas,  therefore  left  for  Love  to  choose, 
Whether  he  would  his  eyesight  lose, 
Or,  from  the  world  forever  sent. 
Doomed  be,  to  lasting  banishment. 

Love  chose  the  first,  and  to  this  day, 
Though  blind,  on  earth  he  wings  his  way, 
More  dauntless,  reckless  than  before, 
A  tyrant  now,  and  evermore. 


A  L'AIDE,  MON  ROI. 

In  ancient  days  Harold  was  King  of  France,  and  was  known 
as  the  champion  of  all  the  poor  and  oppressed  in  his  kingdom. 
To  call  upon  the  king  was  to  invoke  aid  and  speedy  justice. 
"  A  1'aide,  mon  Roi,"  was  the  popular  cry  which  spread 
throughout  the  whole  kingdom,  until  it  became  the  faith  of 
the  peasants,  and  was  never  uttered  in  vain  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne. 

IS  ING  HAROLD  sat  on  his  regal  throne, 
*^  For  Harold  was  king  of  the  realm  alone  ; 
Dispensing  right  to  rich  and  poor, 
To  noble  knight  and  lowly  boor. 

Whene'er  his  ear  heard  the  earnest  plead, 
Of  serf  oppressed  by  baron's  greed  ; 
The  king  responded  to  the  call, 
And  measured  justice  out  to  all. 

Thus,  each  sad  tale  and  feeble  moan, 
Was  told  at  the  foot  of  that  royal  throne  ; 
The  power  of  might  was  powerless  there, 
For  Harold  could  strike,  as  well  as  spare. 


26  A  L'AIDE,  MON  ROI. 

And  so,  throughout  the  realm,  his  name 
The  watchword  of  the  poor  became. 
"  Harold,  mon  roi  ;  a  1'aide,  a  1'aide  !  " 
Was  the  peasant's  constant  cry  for  aid. 

Until  at  last  it  seemed  to  ring 
Through  all  the  land  ;  "  A  1'aide,  my  king,' 
By  anguished  hearts,  raised  everywhere, 
Became  th'  oppressed  one's  daily  prayer. 


King  Harold  was  ta'en  to  his  long  last  rest, 
In  a  tide-washed  isle — at  his  own  behest : 
At  dead  of  night  his  pall  they  bore, 
Silent  and  sad  to  that  lonely  shore. 

The  grave  was  ready,  the  prayer  was  said, 
The  coffin  was  placed  in  its  lowly  bed  ; 
The  mourners  gazed  on  the  solemn  rite, 
When  a  piercing  cry  rang  thro'  the  night : 

"  Harold  !     A  1'aide,  a  1'aide,  my  king," 
And  a  half  wild  serf  pushed  thro'  the  ring, 
Knelt  by  the  open  grave  at  once, 
And  silently  waited  the  king's  response. 


A  L'AIDE,  MON  ROI.  27 

"  Who  calls  on  the  king  calls  not  in  vain," 
A  voice  thro'  the  welkin  rang  again. 
"  State  forth  thy  wrong,  what  is  thy  need  ? 
Though  dead,  King  Harold  will  hear  thy  plead." 

*'  My  king,  this  land  is  mine,"  he  said, 

"  My  all  ;  I  ask  but  to  be  paid." 

"  And  shalt  be,"  spoke  King  Harold's  son, 

"  For  Harold,  the  King,  does  wrong  to  none." 

And  there  in  the  night  was  the  silver  paid, 
Ere  Harold  to  rest  in  his  grave  was  laid  ; 
Then  piled  they  the  earth  on  his  kingly  head, 
And  left  him  to  sleep  in  his  lowly  bed. 


THE    EARTHLY   LOVE. 

T~"HE  angels  tuned  their  harps  of  gold, 
*       And  struck  the  trembling  strings ; 
Through  endless  courts  the  anthem  rolled, 
With  clearest  echoings. 

A  shining  throng  of  spirits  bright 
Stood  round  the  azure  throne  ; 

Bathed  in  the  dew  of  Heaven's  light, 
Their  wings  like  brilliants  shone. 

But  one  sweet  seraph  standing  there, 

Sang  with  the  angel  throng ; 
Yet  plaintive  was  the  sacred  air 

Which  mingled  with  her  song. 

And  on  her  beauteous  cheek,  there  fell 

A  pearly  crystal  tear  ; 
The  joys  of  Heaven,  might  not  dispel 

A  lingering  memory  dear. 


THE    EARTHLY    LOVE.  29 

Lest  one  she  loved  might  never  come, 

To  join  that  heavenly  band  ; 
Lest  one  dear  soul  might  not  be  won, 

At  last,  to  reach  that  land. 

"  A  boon,  oh,  Lamb  of  God  " —  she  plead, 

"  A  loved  one's  soul  to  save  ; 
To  still  the  grief  his  heart  doth  shed 

Upon  my  earthly  grave." 

Permission  !     Hallelujahs  rang 

All  down  the  golden  plain  ; 
In  chords  of  joy  the  angels  sang, 

A  touching  farewell  strain. 

The  spirit  swept  with  sudden  flight 

Through  the  gates  of  Paradise  ; 
Swift  as  a  star  falls  thro'  the  night, 

Far  back  to  earth  she  flies. 

To  bring  the  loved  one  calm  and  peace, 

His  sorrowing  soul  to  soothe  ; 
To  bid  his  useless  tears  to  cease, 

His  heart  toward  Heaven  to  move. 


30  THE    EARTHLY    LOVE. 

PART  II. 

'Twas  night,  and  round  a  banquet  spread, 

Had  met  the  rich  and  fair ; 
Gay  was  the  throng,  and  at  its  head 

There  sat  a  youthful  pair. 

For  wine  and  mirth  now  ruled  the  hour, 

Twixt  song  and  music  tost ; 
Forgotten,  was  the  mystic  power, 

The  loved  one,  and  the  lost. 

A  fair  young  face  was  close  to  his, 
Was  bent,  his  words  to  hear  ; 

Lest  she,  the  love  he  spoke,  might  miss, 
Poured  in  her  listening  ear. 

Where  was  the  love  of  yesterday  ? 

The  plighted  troth,  the  vow  ? 
Oh  !  for  the  truth  of  manhood,  say, 

Are  they  forgotten  now  ? 

The  unseen  seraph,  standing  there, 
Had  seen  with  glistening  eye  ; 

With  saddened  heart  she  watched  the  pair, 
Then  turned,  and  soared  on  high. 


THE    EARTHLY    LOVE.  31 

Back  to  the  realms  of  endless  day, 

Enough  of  earthly  love  ; 
How  can  the  things  of  life  repay 

For  the  heavenly  joys  above  ? 

The  love  of  man,  like  fleeting  light, 

Is  changeful  as  a  dream  ; 
While  joys  of  Heaven  flow  ever  bright, 

In  an  unending  stream. 

Home,  home  once  more  to  ruby  skies, 

Anew  her  flight  she  wings  ; 
Again — once  more  in  Paradise, 

Her  song  of  rapture  rings. 

She  tunes  her  golden  harp  again, 

No  more  with  plaintive  moan  ; 
But  holier  is  the  seraph's  strain 

Which  floats  towards  the  throne. 


OUR    FATHER    WHICH    ART    IN 
HEAVEN. 

/^VUR  Father  in  Heaven  !    We  hallow  Thy  name  : 
^-^   O'er  Earth,  as  on  high,  Thou  ever  dost  reign  ; 
We  pray  that,  to  us,  Thy  peace  may  be  given, 
And  Thy  Will  done  by  men,  as  by  angels  in  Heaven. 
Oh  !  give  us  this  day,  the  bread  that  we  need, 
Forgive  ev'ry  trespass,  in  word  and  in  deed ; 
Teach  us  to  pardon  each  other,  that  we 
May  finally  obtain  forgiveness  of  Thee. 
Oh  !  lead  us  away  from  the  manifold  snares 
Which  Temptation  spreads  for  us.  each  day  una- 
wares ; 

Oh  !  keep  us  from  evil,  of  all  hues  whatever, 
And  Thine  be  the  Power  and  Glory  forever. 


A  VISION. 

I  BEHELD  a  lofty  mountain,  lifting  to  the  farthest 
sky, 

And  upon  its  utmost  crest,  wreathed  in  clouds  of 
brilliancy ; 

There,  a  golden  palace  stood,  builded  by  immortal 
hands ; 

And  the  luster  of  its  glory  spread  o'er  all  the  dis- 
tant lands. 

Glowing  with  a  clear  effulgence,  and  a  mild  and1 
holy  light ; 

Thro'  the  sunshine  of  the  morning,  and  the  black- 
ness of  the  night. 

Then  I  heard  faint  music  swelling,  over  all  the  land' 
and  sea  ; 

E'en  to  earth's  remotest  dwelling,  bearing  sweetest 
melody. 

All  the  peoples  of  the  nations,  upward  bent  their 

yearning  gaze  ; 
Upward,  toward  the  golden  palace,  and  toward  the 

devious  ways ; 

3 


34  A  VISION. 

Winding  on  the  lofty  mountain,  round  and  round 

in  various  lines, 
Paths,  and  zigzag  roads,  and  thickets  scattered  o'er 

its  vast  confines  ; 
And  there  seemed  a  countless  number,  pressing  on 

with  toiling  feet ; 
Up  the  painful  pathways  climbing,  o'er  the  rock  and 

up  the  steep  ; 
There  I  saw  the  hardy  yeoman,  priest  and  layman, 

maidens  mild ; 
Many  a   fainting,   weary  woman,   and  the  mother 

with  her  child. 

And  it  seemed,  that  all  the  pathways  leading  to  the 

mountain's  crest, 
Were  intricate,  and  wearisome,  with  scarce  a  place 

to  rest  : 
While  many  a  broad  and  noble   road  with   shaded 

nooks  and  trees, 
Branched  downward  from  the  stony  paths,  to  those 

of  pleasant  ease. 
And  of  the  countless  multitude,  who  on  the  glorious 

shrine, 
Had  fixed  their  longing  eyes  at  first,  with  constancy 

divine  ; 


A    VISION.  35 

It  seemed  as  though  a  little  band,  of  ail  that  host 

remained  ; 
Which  neared    the    mountain's   topmost    land,   the 

golden  palace  gained. 

And  all  the  rest  of  that  vast  throng,  lured  by  the 
love  of  ease, 

Or  by  some  tempting  view,  which  served  their  way- 
ward souls  to  please ; 

Forgetful  of  the  golden  shrine,  now  hidden  from 
their  sight ; 

Had  missed  their  way,  and  wandered  o'er  the  moun- 
tain's dizzy  height. 

Adown  some  darkling  precipice,  unwary  ones  were 
hurled ; 

While  some  retraced  their  steps  again,  regretful  of 
the  world: 

Unheard  the  glorious  melody,  which  with  celestial 
air, 

Still  floated  through  the  canopy,  and  lingered 
everywhere. 

And   evening  came,  and    twilight    had  bathed  the 

mountain's  crest, 
In  a  robe  of  crimson  splendor;  and  the  sun  was  in 

the  west 


36  A  VISION. 

Slowly  falling  ;  yet  the  warning,  all  unheeded,   on 

them  fell; 
As  though  some  evil  spirit  had  o'er  them  cast  its 

spell. 
And  darkness  drew  its  mantle,  and  then  the  gates 

of  gold 
Were  sadly   closed,  and   blackness  dropt  down  its 

sable  fold  ; 
And  as  the  doors  shut  swinging,  passed  the  Vision 

from  my  eyes, 
And  fainter  grew   the  singing,  till  lost  within  the 

skies. 


MY  MAUD,  MY  MARGUERITE. 

MY  Maud,  my  Marguerite  ! 
My  little  dove ; 
So  eloquently  sweet 

And  fair.     Thy  love 
Is  more  to  me, 

Than  life  or  gain 
Can  ever  be. 

Thy  gentle  name 
Fills  up  my  life, 

And  bids  me  seek: 
My  lasting  joy  in  thee, 

My  Marguerite. 

My  Maud,  my  Marguerite  ! 

Upon  thy  brow, 
Sit  Truth  and  Purity 

As  white  as  snow. 
Thy  gentle  voice, 

That  darling  little  hand: 
No  maid  so  fair, 

In  all  the  land. 


38  MY    MAUD,    MY    MARGUERITE. 

To  live  for  thee, 

This  life  were  sweet ; 

My  darling  Maud, 
My  Marguerite. 

My  Maud,  my  Marguerite  ! 

Both  joys  and  pain, 
May  welcome  come, 

If  not  in  vain: 
My  trust,  my  hope, 

Are  strong  in  thee, 
Nor  Time  revoke 

Their  constancy. 
Thy  joys  all  mine, 

And  mine  thy  grief ; 
My  own  dear  Maud, 

My  Marguerite. 


ANYTHING   TO    BEAT   GRANT. 

*FOR    THE    PRESIDENTIAL    CAMPAIGN    OF    1872. 

"  A  NYTHING  to  beat  Grant,"  anything  to  drag 
**  The  hero  down  who  bravely  bore  aloft  the 

Union  flag, 
While  patriot  souls  were  fainting,  and  exultant  was 

the  foe, 
While  waves  of  war  beat  wildly,  and  drenched  the 

land  in  woe, 
Who  stayed  the  fiery  tempest,  with  steadfast  hand 

and  heart, 
Who  rolled  the  billows  back,  and  tore,  the  clouds  of 

gloom  apart  ? 

"  Anything  to  beat  Grant,"  anything  to  beat 
The  victor  who  would  not  exult  upon  the  foe's  de- 
feat, 


*  The  watchword  of  the  combined  Democratic  and  Liberal 
parties.  — R.  A.  C. 


40         ANYTHING  TO  BEAT  GRANT. 

But  modestly  who  turned  away  from  Richmond's 

fallen  pride, 
Refused  like  conquerors  of  old  her  bloody  streets 

to  stride. 
But  gave  his  promise  to  the  foe,  a  pledge  that  war 

should  cease, 
And   uttered,  "  We  were  brothers  once  :  oh,  let  us 

now  have  peace." 

"  Anything  to  beat  Grant, "  anything  to  blot 

The  record  of  his  glowing  name,  on  which  there 

rests  no  spot. 

To  cover  up  with  infamy  his  glorious  career, 
Oh !  'tis  a  noble  deed  for  those   who   hold    their 

country  dear. 
But  vain  the  tongues  of  malice,  for  as  the  years  roll 

on, 
His  fame  will  clearer,  brighter   grow,  like  that  of 

Washington. 

"  Anything  to  beat  Grant."  say,  brothers,  will  you 
join 

The  crew,  who  would  with  impious  hands  Colum- 
bia's fame  purloin  ? 


ANYTHING  TO  BEAT  GRANT.         41 

The  foe  again  is  in  the  field  ;  his  battle  cries  re- 
sound, 

Come,  comrades,  to  the  rescue,  for  the  field  is  holy 
ground, 

Raise  high  aloft  our  starry  flag,  and  to  the  millions 
tell, 

The  ballot  is  our  weapon  now  :  oh !  wield  it  strong 
and  well. 


ALL    IS   VANITY,    SAITH    THE 
PREACHER. 

A  LL  things  are  Vanity,  earth  cannot  give 
**  The  joys  we  seek  after,  and  for  which  we  strive  ; 
The  future  but  promises  hope,  which  proves  vain, 
And  when  present  it  yields  us  but  sorrow  and  pain. 

The  silver  lined  cloud,  which  soars  peaceful  above, 
And  seems  a  bright  Eden  of  bliss  and  of  love  ; 
Is  a  vapory  mist,  which  deceives  but  the  eye, 
And  losing  its  outline  is  lost  in  the  sky. 

The  love  which  you  sought,  and  which  promised  to 

prove 

A  bliss,  which  Death  only  could  ever  remove ; 
Though  sweet,  is  so  mingled  with  sorrow  and  care, 
As  to  lose  the  clear  halo  it  first  seemed  to  wear. 

The  dreams  which  you  dreamt,  from  your  earliest 

days; 

Of  successes  and  triumphs,  the  golden  hued  rays 
Of  a  glorious  manhood,  how  have  they  been  met  ? 
And  years  creeping  on  find  you  dreaming  them  yet. 


ALL    IS    VANITY,    SAITH    THE    PREACHER.          43 

The  gold  which  you  toiled  for,  perchance  may  have 

won  ; 
Does  it  bring  you  the  joys,  you  once  thought  'twould 

have  done  ; 

Is  the  taste  of  its  splendor  as  sweet  to  the  lip, 
As  you    dreamed   'twould   have   been,    when   you 

struggled  for  it  ? 

The  chalice  of  bliss,  which  at  last  you  have  gained, 
You   have    tasted   the  dregs,  ere   its   contents   are 

drained  ; 

The  roses  of  youth,  they  have  vanished,  have  fled, 
And  shrinking  to  ashes,  lie  withered  and  dead. 

The  conqueror's  wreath,  the  bright  garland  of  fame, 
'Twas  to  deck  thy  young  brow  with  a  glorious  name  ; 
Oh  !  how  has  it  faded,  that  dream  of  thy  life  : 
Its  heritance,  bitterness,  mockery,  strife. 

All  things  are  vanity,  Heaven  alone 

Gives  hope  of  a  life,  which  shall  fully  atone 

For  the  vain  disappointments  which  follow  us  here ; 

Have  faith,  for  the  wealth  of  the  grain  is  the  sere. 


A   SERENADE. 

1    ADY,  from  thy  bower  of  love, 
*— '     Sweetly  sleeping  night  away  ; 
From  thy  dreams  a  moment  rest  thee, 

Listen  to  my  ardent  lay. 
All  on  earth  is  still  and  quiet, 

Cloudless  beauty  reigns  above  ; 
Silent  stars  look  down  upon  me, 

And  the  zephyrs  whisper  love. 

Summer  nights  will  not  be  with  us, 

Always,  sweet  !  nor  will  yon  star 
Shine  as  bright  as  now  it  shineth, 

From  its  heavenly  home  afar. 
It  doth  tell  me,  'tis  the  hour, 

Love  awakes  ;  then  break  the  chain, 
That  brings  unseen  in  leaden  slumbers, 

Dreams  of  joy,  perchance  of  pain. 

Lady  wake,  the  night  is  waning, 
Sunlight  o'er  the  eastern  sky, 


A    SERENADE.  45 

Soon  will  spread  its  radiant  brightness, 

Hiding  night's  dark  canopy. 
And  the  pale  clear  moon  will  sorrow, 

Not  on  thee  in  peace  to  shine  ; 
Friends  will  claim  thee  on  the  morrow, 

Let  this  night  be  love's  and  mine. 


RETROSPECT. 

T  TORE  a  leaf  from  Memory, 
*  And  studied  it  with  care  ; 
I  pondered  over  bygone  years, 

Of  rapture  rich  and  rare  : 
Scenes  passed  away,  long,  long  ago, 

Sped  swiftly  thro'  my  brain, 
And  with  them  brought  a  mingled  sense 

Of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 
The  days  of  innocence  and  peace, 

Of  boyish  pride  and  grief, 
The  dreams  of  youth,  the  earliest  love, 

Were  written  on  that  leaf. 
A  little  sunny  face  looks  forth, 

Ah  !  yes  :  I  see  it  now, 
With  laughing  eyes  it  smiles  on  me. 

Above  that  fair  white  brow 
Her  golden  hair  in  wavelets  falls, 

Like  foam  upon  the  sea  : 
Her  gentle  voice  so  sweet  and  low, 

Brings  love  and  peace  to  me. 


RETROSPECT.  47 

Long  years  have  vanished  like  a  dream, 

I  am  a  boy  once  more  ; 
The  quick  blood  thrills  my  heart  again, 

As  once  it  did  of  yore. 
The  furrows  on  my  brow  are  but 

An  idle  fantasy  ; 
Fool  that  I  was,  to  dream  that  death 

Had  taken  her  from  me. 
Oh  !   Memory  !     Oh  !   Mockery  ! 

Thine  images  are  vain, 
The  weary  years  of  manhood's  life 

Can  need  no  other  pain  ; 
Enough  !   Enough  !  I  will  not  look 

Too  long  upon  the  past, 
A  gleam  of  hope  at  least  remains, 

The  present  cannot  last. 


FOREVER. 

COREVER  !     Forever  ! 
*•        Oh  !  what  can  it  mean  ? 
Forever  !     Forever ! 

A  sound  in  a  dream  : 
A  stray  glimpse  of  glory, 

An  instant  in  sight, 
A  vain  fairy  story, 

A  vision  of  light. 

Forever  !     Forever  ! 

To  angels  alone, 
Forever  !     Forever  ! 

Its  meaning  is  known  : 
Humanity  hails 

The  thought  with  delight ; 
But  instantly  quails 

In  dismay  from  the  sight. 

Forever  !     Forever ! 
Earth  cannot  tell : 


Forever  !     Forever  ! 

Through  Heaven  and  Hell 
Is  eternally  ringing 

The  lost  spirit's  cry  ; 
While  angels  are  singing 

Its  joys  in  the  sky. 
4 


THE    MAID   WITH    THE    GOLDEN 
HAIR. 

PART  I. 

A  ND  oh  !  there  is  joy  in  the  house  to-night, 
*"»  From  turret  and  door  stream  floods  of  light ; 
And  hurrying  feet  are  hastening  there, 
To  swell  the  crowd  of  the  young  and  the  fair. 
The  old  man  came  with  his  locks  of  snow, 
His  trembling  limbs,  and  his  furrowed  brow  ; 
With  bounding  step  came  the  village  maid, 
In  tasteful  robes  of  white  arrayed. 
And  happiness  reigns  in  the  hearts  of  all, 
At  the  bridal  feast  in  the  stately  hall  ; 
For  dearly,  they  loved  the  wedded  pair, 
And  the  bride  was  the  maid  with  the  golden  hair. 

Amidst  the  throng,  like  a  spirit  bright, 
With  a  blushing  cheek,  and  an  eye  whose  light 
Was  sweetly  dimmed  by  the  pearly  tear, 
Of  joy  and  peace  which  lingered  there  : 


THE    MAID    WITH    THE    GOLDEN    HAIR.  51 

She  stood,  in  her  robes  of  spotless  white, 
Unseen,  at  her  side  was  an  angel  bright. 
But  the  feast  begins,  and  the  music's  note 
The  silence  of  the  still  night  broke  ; 
And  louder,  and  longer,  swells  the  strain, 
And  the  echoes  take  up  the  theme  again  ; 
The  distant  hills  repeat  the  air, 
In  praise  of  the  maid  with  the  golden  hair. 

PART  II. 

And  oh  !  there  is  grief  in  the  house  to-night, 
And  the  curtains  are  drawn,  and  pale  and  white 
Are  the  faces  of  those  who  went  and  came, 
From  that  sorrowful  bed  of  youthful  pain. 
With  tearful  eyes,  and  whispered  tones, 
And  hearts,  which  echoed  the  stifled  moans 
Of  him,  who  crushed  by  the  bitter  woe 
Of  a  wilder  grief  than  they  could  know. 
But  the  spirit  of  light  is  standing  near, 
And  whispers  "  Come  "  in  the  maiden's  ear  ; 
Two  angels  are  leaving  the  house  of  despair, 
And  one  is  the  maid  with  the  golden  hair. 

Beneath  the  willows,  far  out  in  the  night, 

With  the  gale  to  soothe,  and  the  moon  to  light  ; 


52  THE    MAID    WITH    THE    GOLDEN    HAIR. 

And  the  quiet  stars  to  watch  her  tomb, 
And  flowers  to  over  it  fade  and  bloom, 
And  loved  ones  to  utter  her  cherished  name, 
Through  years  to  pass,  and  come  again  : 
She  sleeps  in  peace,  'neath  her  marble  pall, 
Awaiting  the  blast  of  the  trumpet  call, 
Which  shall  open  the  grave,  roll  back  the  stone, 
And  Christ  shall  call  his  loved  ones  home  : 
And  joy  and  peace  shall  evermore  there, 
Belong  to  the  maid  with  the  golden  hair. 


ODE  TO  INNOCENCE. 

/^\H  !  Innocence  !     Sweet  Innocence  ! 

^-^     There  is  no  holier  charm 

Than  that  which  decks  thy  maiden  brow, 

And  steels  thy  infant  arm. 
No  golden  light,  which  gilds  the  sky, 

Can  clearer,  purer  shine, 
In  all  its  glorious  brilliancy, 

Sweet  Innocence,  than  thine. 

Oh  !  Innocence  !     Sweet  Innocence  ! 

No  other  joy  can  give 
A  tithe  of  that  which  they  shall  know. 

Who  with  thee  ever  live. 
No  knowledge  of  the  mighty  sage, 

Not  e'en  a  kingly  throne, 
Bestows  the  peace  which  thou  canst  call, 

Sweet  Innocence,  thine  own. 

Oh  !   Innocence,  sweet  Innocence  ! 
Amid  the  storms,— alone 


54  ODE    TO    INNOCENCE. 

Thou  art  the  polar  star,  to  guide 
The  wanderer  to  his  home. 

Whate'er  of  ill  may  him  betide, 
Shall  matter  naught,  if  he 

Will  only  cling,  with  steadfast  faith. 
Sweet  Innocence — to  thee. 

Oh  !   Innocence  !     Sweet  Innocence  ! 

What  diamond  of  the  night, 
Or  jewel,  equals  in  its  wealth 

Thy  coronet  of  light  ? 
Thou  art  from  God,  a  holy  thing 

To  lead  us  to  that  shore, 
Where  we  shall  need  thy  guardian  wing. 

Sweet  Innocence — no  more. 


TIRED. 

/"^\H  !  for  the  eagle's  wing  to  soar  away, 
^-^   From  this  dull  earth  of  endless  agony  ; 
To  leave  these  daily  scenes  of  strife  and  pain, 
Where  hope  is  crushed,  and  life  itself  is  vain. 
Bright  flowers,  perchance,  thy  lonely  path  may  light, 
Bright  joyous  dreams  may  gild  the  hours  of  night ; 
But  in  the  rose's  bosom  dwells  a  thorn, 
And  shapes  of  horror  break  thy  vision  ere  the  morn. 
Friends  who  have  clung,  and  twined  around  thy  heart 
When  Fortune  smiled,  will  one  by  one  depart, 
When  clouds  of  darkness  gather  o'er  the  sky, 
And  leave  thee  hopeless  in  thy  helpless  misery. 


Oh  !  for  the  eagle's  pinions,  swift  to  trace, 

Far  in  the  unknown  universe  of  space  ; 

From  star  to  star,  from  world  to  world  to  rove, 

Where  spirits  bright,  and  angels  dwell  in  love. 

To  wander  o'er  the  golden  clouds  of  light, 

To  revel  in  a  land  of  blessed  and  calm  delight : 


56  TIRED. 

Where  happiness  and  peace  and  joy  are  won, 
And  aught  of  life  or  earth  can  never  come. 
Aye  !  death  were  robbed  of  all  its  shadowy  fear, 
The  fatal  scythe,  more  welcome  as  more  near  : 
The  spirit  yearns  to  take  its  first  brave  flight, 
And  bid  friends,  home,  and  earth  a  long  good  night. 


TO   OUR   LITTLE    NEIGHBOR 
OPPOSITE. 

O  WEET  little  Bertha,  in  her  bright  blue  dress, 
^  A  white  rose  to  her  heaving  bosom  prest, 
A  red  one  hidden  in  her  glossy  hair, 
And,  in  each  cheek  a  dimple  round  and  fair. 
Her  eyes,  which  as  the  evening  planets  shine, 
Or  brilliant  gems  from  famed  Golconda's  mine, 
A  matchless  arm,  and  rounded  hand  to  suit, 
As  that  which  plucked  the  sweet  forbidden  fruit. 
A  form,  which  sages  dreamed  of  in  their  lore  ; 
And  such  a  pretty  ankle,  but  I'll  say  no  more. 


GENERAL  PHILIP  KEARNEY. 

KILLED  AT  THE   BATTLE   OF  BULL'S  RUN,  AUGUST,  1862. 

PEACE  to  the  ashes  of  the  valiant  dead  : 
*•        A  hero  and  a  soldier  ;  Time  shall  write 
His  name  upon  the  pillars  of  the  state, 

In  living  letters  of  eternal  light. 
Mourn  ye  not  for  him  ;  sleep  alone 

Dims  his  bright  eye,  and  stills  his  warrior  breast ; 
The  great  and  noble  heart  can  never  die, 

The  soldier's  grave,  is  but  the  hero's  rest. 


LOOK    FORWARD. 

I    OOK  forward  ! 
*-'     Look  not  back 
Along  the  track 
Of  withered  years  : 
An  aimless  strife, 
A  wasted  life, 

The  hope  which  never  came, 
Proves  thou  hast  lived  in  vain. 

Look  forward  ! 
Canst  thou  bring 
A  single  thing 
Back  from  the  past  ? 
Will  grief  prevail, 
Or  tears  avail 

To  change  what  might  have  been, 
To  live  thy  life  again  ? 

Look  forward  ! 
Canst  thou  see 
No  light  for  thee  ? 


60  LOOK    FORWARD. 

No  promised  land  ? 
Or  dost  thou  fear 
Each  future  year, 
Will  echo  but  the  tread, 
Of  those  which  now  are  dead  ? 


Look  forward  ! 
Know'st  thou  not 
The  way  to  blot 
A  failure  out 
Is  to  begin 
Thy  life  again  ; 
By  ceaseless  constancy, 
Thou  must  a  victor  be. 


Look  upward  ! 
Is  earth  all 
That  man  can  call 
His  aim  or  hope  ? 
Eternity  begun 
When  life  is  done, 
Shall  last,  when  time  shall  reap 
The  earth  no  more  ;  but  sleep. 


LOOK    FORWARD.  6 1 

Look  heavenward  ! 
Fix  thy  gaze 
Upon  the  rays 
Of  immortality, 

Which  break  the  might 
Of  earth's  long  night, 
And  light  the  golden  way 
To  everlasting  day. 


TO  F.  R.  C. 

JV/l  Y  valued  friend,  I  dedicate  to  thee 

*  *  *•  These  lines,  though  thou  mayst  never  see 

Or  hear  them  uttered  in  thy  praise. 

Yet  'tis  not  in  the  power  of  my  poor  lays, 

To  add  or  to  detract  from  thy  clear  fame, 

Or  wreathe  one  laurel  for  thy  honored  name. 

This  verse  is  not  to  flatter,  'tis  to  bear 
True  witness  to  a  worth  which  is  so  rare, 
That  I  have  never,  midst  the  ranks  of  men 
Found  its  superior,  and  scarce  hope  again 
To  meet  its  equal ;  though  my  walk  in  life, 
Hath  brought  me  much  experience  of  this  world's 
strife. 

As  Christian  father,  husband,  earnest  friend, 
In  truest  types,  thy  character  doth  blend 
All  these  in  one,  and  yet  thy  modest  mien 
Lays  claim  to  none  ;  and  only  those  may  deem, 
Who  know  thee  well,  how  much  of  worth  there  lies 
In  thy  calm  life  ;  how  much  of  good  to  prize. 


FOR  MISS  LILLIE'S  ALBUM. 

'""TO  the  beautiful  flower  whose  name  you  bear, 

Miss  Lillie,  pray  what  relation  are  you  ? 
And  when  in  the  winter  the  flowers  are  gone, 

Pray  tell  me,  Miss  Lillie,  what  do  you  do  ? 
When  all  the  sweet  roses  are  scattered  and  fled, 

The  last  rose  of  summer  has  always  repined, 
I  don't  then  understand  when  the  lilies  are  dead, 

Why,  unlike  the  roses,  they  leave  you  behind. 


THE   BATTLE   OF  PITTSBURG 
LANDING. 

DULLETS  were  bearing 
•*-'  Death  on  the  breeze, 
Cannon  was  tearing 

The  old  forest  trees  ; 
The  sabre's  dull  clanging 

The  musketry's  hail, 
The  threads  of  life  hanging, 

Like  leaves  on  the  gale. 
Brave  men  were  falling 

Thickly  and  fast, 
On  high  heaven  calling 

For  mercy  at  last. 
Brother  met  brother, 

Father  'gainst  son, 
One  killing  the  other, 

Rare  triumph  he  won  ! 
Who,  who  is  the  victor  ? 

Go  ask  of  the  slain 
Whose  torn  limbs  are  lying 

In  heaps  on  the  plain  ; 


THE    BATTLE    OF    PITTSBURG    LANDING.  65 

While  life  blood  is  welling, 

In  streams  swift  and  red  ; 
From  the  living  is  swelling 

The  ranks  of  the  dead. 

The  battle  is  over, 

The  carnage  is  done, 
The  dead  in  the  clover, 

The  victor  has  gone. 
The  groan  of  the  dying, 

Is  stilled  to  a  moan  : 
The  fear  of  the  flying 

Has  left  them  alone  : 
Alone  in  their  sorrow, 

Alone  on  the  sod, 
No  hope  of  a  morrow, 

Scant  mercy  in  God. 
The  woe  of  a  mother, 

The  wail  of  a  wife, 
The  last  pang  is  over  : 

And  ebbs  the  strong  life. 
Darkness  is  falling 

Down  on  the  slain, 
Silence  appalling 

Is  over  the  plain. 
5 


66  THE    BATTLE    OF    PITTSBURG    LANDING. 

Nought  heard  but  the  raven, 
Nought  left  me  to  tell ; 

Save  of  pity  in  heaven, 
And  mocking  in  hell. 


THY    HEART   SHALL   LIVE    FOR- 
EVER. 

''T'HY  heart  shall  live  forever,  even  when 
*  To  dust  thy  body  shall  have  turned  again  ; 
When  the  gorged  earth  has  swallowed  every  trace 
Left  by  decay,  and  purified  its  place. 

Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  when  thy  name, 
Oblivious  and  forgotten,  has  no  place  nor  fame  ; 
But  break  the  marble  letters  on  thy  tomb, 
And  fading  memory,  thy  common  doom. 

Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  when  shall  fall 
Of  the  proud  city,  palace,  dome,  and  wall  ; 
When  its  gay  haunts,  its  marts,  are  ruins  all ; 
And  stalks  the  tiger,  where  stood  banquet  hall. 

Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  when  in  wrath 
The  elements  shall  sweep  all  from  their  path  ; 
When  the  red  lava  in  a  fiery  torrent  pours, 
And  the  fierce  glaciers  grind  its  ruined  shores. 


68  THY    HEART    SHALL    LIVE    FOREVER. 

Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  when  there  reigns 
Unbroken  silence  o'er  those  moldering  remains  ; 
Aye  !  even  when  the  desert  sand  shall  rise, 
And  choke  out  every  vestige  'neath  a  burning  skies. 

Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  when  shall  melt 
With  fervent  heat,  the  earth,  and  all  which  dwelt  ; 
Lashed  by  the  seething  flame,  shall  groan  and  break 

apace, 
And  gleaming  fragments  fly  through  boundless  space. 

Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  when  is  made 
Another  world,  in  which  there  is  no  grave  ; 
Where  toil  and  death  are  not  the  heritage  of  life  ; 
Where  soul  may  tranquil  dwell,  and  comes  not  strife. 

Where  love  forever  reigns,  and  hope  grows  never  dim, 
Of  pain  no  consciousness,  and   banished  every  sin  ; 
Where  spirit  knows  no  want,  and  needs  no  care  ; 
Thy  heart  shall  live  forever,  even  there. 


TO   LADY   GAY. 

F^vON'T  turn,  dear  Lady  Gay, 
*— ^  Those  laughing  eyes  away, 
Or  quite  so  firmly  say, 
You  only  were  in  play. 
For  truly,  I  believe 
You  meant  not  to  deceive, 
And  if  you'll  not  retrieve, 
I'll  promise  not  to  grieve. 
I  vow,  you  ne'er  shall  see, 
The  pain  'twill  give  to  me, 
Merely  a  friend  to  be, 
Dear  Lady  Gay— to  thee. 


WOOD-FIRE   FANCIES. 

\17ITHOUT  the  wild  storm  whistles, 

*  "       And  on  the  frozen  street, 
There  falls  a  blinding  icy  cloud, 
Of  piercing  hail  and  sleet. 

The  night  is  dark  and  wintry, 

And  downward  in  its  path 
The  rising  gale,  with  mighty  strength, 

Sweeps  on  in  fitful  wrath. 

Beside  the  blazing  fireside, 

My  easy  chair  I  draw, 
Safe  from  the  battling  elements, 

And  listen  to  their  roar. 

The  wind  howls  wild  with  anguish, 

Then  moans  as  if  in  pain  ; 
Then  roars  again,  as  tho'  it  found 

Its  supplications  vain. 


WOOD-FIRE    FANCIES.  71 

The  flames  shoot  up  with  sadden  glare, 

As  dying  embers  fall  ; 
The  shadows  flit  in  ghostly  dance 

Upon  my  chamber  wall. 

How  long  I  sat,  I  know  not, 

Gazing,  staring,  in  the  fire  ; 
In  a  dreamy  trance  that  seemed 

As  though  'twould  never  tire. 

And  the  hours  still  kept  striking, 

Till  I  lost  them  in  the  night  ; 
And  the  fire  still  kept  burning, 

With  a  strangely  lurid  light. 

Wreaths  of  smoke  were  upward  cresting, 

Floating  like  a  misty  fog  ; 
And  now  and  then  a  face  seemed  peering 

From  behind  a  blackened  log. 

And  from  out  the  glowing  embers, 
Spirit  forms,  and  phantoms  swept  ; 

Springing  from  their  hot  embraces, 
As  the  forked  flames  upward  leapt. 


72  WOOD-FIRE    FANCIES. 

All  at  once  the  room  seemed  peopled, 
With  a  strange  and  motley  crew  ; 

Of  specters  unfamiliar, 
And  shapes  I  never  knew. 

They  marched  in  serried  compact, 
They  swam  upon  the  air  ; 

They  wandered  round  in  circles, 
And  floated  everywhere. 

Then  suddenly  they  vanished, 
And  bluer  burnt  the  fire  ; 

While  heavenly  music  filled  the  room, 
As  from  an  unseen  lyre. 

And  all  around  me  drifted 

A  misty  cloud  of  light ; 
Entrancing  all  my  senses 

With  a  strange  yet  sweet  delight. 

Soon  in  the  gauze-like  vapor. 

A  shadowy  form  there  grew  ; 
Clearer  growing  every  instant, 

Till  before  my  raptured  view 


WOOD-FIRE    FANCIES.  73 

Stood  a  female  form  seraphic, 

One  of  a  heavenly  race  : 
Serenity,  and  wondrous  power, 

Stamped  on  a  marble  face. 

Her  garments  flowing  round  her, 
Like  waves  of  moonlight  were  ; 

Exquisite  was  the  perfume, 

Which  bathed  and  filled  the  air. 

A  snowy  arm  extended, 

A  wand  of  crystal  raised ; 
And  from  its  gleaming  silver  point, 

A  priceless  jewel  blazed. 

What  art  thou,  wondrous  spirit  ? 

My  soul  sought  to  inquire  ; 
Canst  thou  be  that  devouring  thing, 

The  element,  called  Fire  ? 

The  spring  of  joy  and  beauty, 

Of  heat  and  light  the  source  ; 
Parent  alike  of  death  and  life, 

What,  makes  thy  wondrous  force  ? 


74  WOOD-FIRE    FANCIES. 

Then — with  a  start  I  waken'd, 
Which  put  my  dreams  to  rout ; 

And  I  found  as  explanation, 
That  the  fire  had  gone  out. 

The  moon  was  brightly  shining, 
The  stars  shone  still  on  high  ; 

But  in  the  East,  an  orange  tint 
Was  lighting  up  the  sky. 

Yet,  I'll  dream  that  dream  again, 
On  some  other  winter's  night ; 

And  I'll  claim  the  answer  then, 
From  that  spirit  form  of  light. 

I  will  pile  the  embers  on, 
To  last  quite  thro'  my  naps  ; 

And  the  secrets  which  I  learn, 
I'll  tell  to  you,— perhaps  ! 


MONOTONY. 

f^vAY  after  day  shines  forth  the  golden  sun, 
*—'     Night  after  night  the  twinkling  stars  appear  ; 
In  endless  course  the  seasons  go  and  come, 
And  winter  blights  the  fields  in  every  year. 

The  river  toward  the  sea  runs  swiftly  on, 

And  mingles  with  its  depths  with  ceaseless  tide  ; 

The  ocean  rears  its  cresting  waves,  upon 

Whose  bosom  sweeps  the  storm  with  giant  stride. 

The  earth  goes  plunging  down  a  trackless  space, 
The  planets  in  their  tireless  course  have  trod ; 

And  all  the  stars  join  in  the  endless  race, 
Through  the  vast  universal  heaven  of  God. 

And  hoary  Time  looks  on,  and  from  his  throne 
Drops  cycles  from  his  hand  ;  as  on  the  sea 

Fall  drops  of  rain  ;  and  these  are  drawn 
To  the  insatiate  bosom  of  eternity. 


j6  MONOTONY. 

Far  through  the  fading  visions  of  the  past, 
Far  down  the  dim  and  misty  ages  gone  ; 

Grown  gray  with  endless  centuries,  as  vast 
As  the  grand  train  of  ages  yet  to  come. 

And  what  art  thou  ?     Oh,  vain  and  boastful  man, 

So  self-reliant  in  thy  puny  might  ; 
The  life  which  beats  in  thy  weak  frame,  began 

But  yesterday  ;  'twill  take  its  flight  to-night. 

Thou  lookest  o'er  the  everlasting  field  ; 

Tis  mine,  thou  say'st !    Oh,  poor  and  vain  deceit ; 
Thy  father  and  thy  father's  sire,  did  yield 

The  same  delusion,  proved  it  but  a  cheat. 

How  thine  ?  for  see  the  vaunting  words,  have  left 
Thy  lips  a  moment,  e'er  thou  turnest  pale  ; 

Of  life  and  field  in  one  short  hour  bereft, 

And  rumbling  wheels  wind  up  the  cypress  vale. 

And  yet  the  patient  field  remains,  to  mock, 
And  laugh  a  thousand  title  deeds  to  scorn  ; 

Smiles  in  the  summer  sun  ;  the  winter's  shock 
Outbraves,  until  the  resurrection's  morn. 


TO    FLORENCE. 

A  LMOST  have  I  forgotten  thee, 
**•     But  the  magic  of  thine  art 
Still  swells  with  strange  velocity 

Across  my  aching  heart. 
In  dreams,  at  times  I've  seen  thee, 

As  I  knew  thee  years  ago, 
And  the  grief  those  dreams  have  brought  me, 

Thou,  of  all,  canst  never  know. 

'Tis  true  thou'rt  strangely  altered, 

In  face,  in  form,  in  mind, 
A  proud  and  peerless  beauty, 

Once — gentle,  good  and  kind. 
The  world  hath  been  thy  study, 

Thou  hast  learned  the  lesson  well, 
And  the  change  it  hath  wrought  in  thee, 

I  alone  perchance  can  tell. 

What  matter  ?  we  are  passing 
To  the  unknown  future  fast ; 


78  TO    FLORENCE. 

Leaving  memory  soon  forgotten, 

Far  in  the  silent  past. 
And  life  grows  dark  with  shadows, 

Full  of  sorrow,  pain  and  gloom  ; 
For  the  blighted  early  roses, 

Lie  withered  on  the  tomb. 


MY   OLD    FRIENDS. 

/^NE  by  one,  silently, 
^^  Gone  to  the  tomb  ; 
Following  rapidly, 

Yet  there  is  room  ; 
Room  for  the  rest  of  them 

Waiting  their  turn, 
After  life's  history  ; 

Food  for  the  worm. 

Great  though  they  might  have  been, 

Little  they  care  ; 
What  the  world  says  of  them, 

Foul  words  or  fair. 
All  of  the  wealth,  they  had 

Gained  by  long  strife  ; 
Could  not  insure  for  them, 

More  of  this  life. 

Boastful  humanity, 
Where  is  thy  power  ? 


80  MY    OLD    FRIENDS. 

Can  all  that  strength  of  thine 
Gain  thee  an  hour  ? 

Will  death  the  destroyer 
Wait  for  thy  call  ? 

No  :  soon  must  thou  follow 
After  them  all. 


COMMANDER  MAXWELL  WOODHULL, 

U.  S.  NAVY. 

KILLED   AT  BALTIMORE,   FEBRUARY   I9TH,    1863. 

\\  7TTHIN  thy  soldier's  grave  in  calm  repose, 
*  *    Oh  !  rest  thee,  noble  heart,  no  voice  shall  break 
Thy  long  and  peaceful  sleep  ;  not  friends  nor  foes 

Shall  bid  thee  from  thy  earthly  tomb  awake. 
Across  thy  bier,  with  loving  hands  we  spread 

That  flag,  which  was  thy  earliest,  holiest  pride  ; 
Through  life,  it  waved  in  triumph  o'er  thy  head  ; 

In  death,  'twere  well  to  moulder  at  thy  side. 

Upon  the  heaving  deck,  thy  feet  shall  stand 

No  more,  as  master  of  the  main  and  sky  ; 
Thy  ship  shall  sail  without  thee  from  the  land, 

Unmindful  where  the  chieftain's  head  may  lie. 
No  more,  thy  manly  heart  shall  dare  to  brave 

The  tempest's  wrath,  the  wild  waves'  tuneful  roar  ; 
Thy  voice,  once  heard  amidst  the  wind  and  wave, 

Is  hushed  in  silent  death  forevermore. 
6 


82    COMMANDER  MAXWELL  WOODHULL,  U.  S.  NAVY. 

Sleep  on  in  peace,  the  race  of  noble  forms 

Is  nobler,  that  to  theirs  is  joined  thy  fame. 
The  earth  has  lost  thee,  and  a  nation  mourns, 

Posterity  shall  cherish  up  thy  name. 
A  host  of  heroes,  brothers,  comrades,  friends, 

Who  fought  with  thee,  who  sailed  with  thee  ;  at 

last 
Shall  leave  to  us  their  works  and  glorious  ends, 

And  join  thy  spirit  in  the  crowded  past. 


EPITAPH. 

'T'HERE  lies,  beneath  this  cold  gray  stone, 
*       A  man  who  was  sincere  to  none  ; 
He  meant  to  speak  the  truth  alone, 
Which,  for  his  errors  may  atone. 
The  good — he  always  did  revere, 
Though  none  may  in  his  acts  appear ; 
He  lived  in  falsehood  year  by  year ; 
At  last,  in  truth,  he  does  lie  here. 


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